


oh darling.

by ffomixam



Series: tumblr requests. [14]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Let It Be/Get Back Sessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: "Kind of a different request since it isnt smut or anything but how about a fic where sometime around 1969 (Just general The Beatles basically collapsing into themselves time) the other members (All of em, one of em, doesnt really matter) notices Paul just silently falling apart and try (maybe fail) to comfort him?"





	oh darling.

Paul was, again, the last to leave Abbey Road Studios. George had left earlier after an argument with John over his seeming lack of interest in the project and the constant hovering presence of Yoko. John left not long after that with Yoko in tow. And Ringo; well, of him Paul weren’t sure. But he hadn’t seen him for a few hours so he had assumed he had left too.

Paul had stayed overtime working on the minor details of one thing and another on the record and documentary they were working on. Not all that much was left for him to work alone on. Either there was a need for a second-hand opinion or it was simply not his job to do. No matter how hard he tried, he just simply could not let go of the need to work on the smallest detail and micromanage everything.

Something John had made sure to comment on and give him slag about.

But it wasn’t something Paul could help but do. Pouring everything he had into the work and music. The current situation was horrendous. The constant infighting and the break-up of the band looming in the horizon creeping closer and closer. Work was what kept him going. Even at home with Linda, Mary, and Heather he was downright miserable, constantly thinking and worrying about the stress of the album and the members of the band.

He did his best to not let it show. And definitely not in front of little Heather. But Linda knew better, so much was clear to him. She let him know she was there for him, to help him and help to care for him but that the only one who could fully help him through this was himself and that she was no saviour.

So here he was; looking over the last pieces of paperwork before leaving the almost completely empty studio. He forced himself to read through it even though all his concentration was well out the window. His shaking hands combed through his hair that had grown as long as it ever had been. Gelled back at the stair of the day, it had now loosened itself into an unruly mess from all the times he had put his hands through it. His beard wasn’t too dissimilar in its state.

He was so deep into it that he hadn’t noticed the looming presence in the doorway, studying him. It was Ringo; who had not yet left for home but had rather gone outside to catch some air and had then been in an entirely different area of the building, where he couldn’t have bumped into Paul.

He, and as well of the others he was sure, had noticed the state Paul was slowly falling into. Sure, he was trying to hide it. Cover it up with songs, jokes, and what not. But Ringo had known him for soon a decade and the small things about him were obvious to him. How he would constantly touch his hair or beard when frustrated or stressed; as he did now.

Ringo stepped up to the table Paul was leaned over, deep in thoughts about whatever the papers dictated.  He had two cups of coffees in hand. One to himself, the other to Paul. He had seen him mulling about and had thought caffeine was much needed. But now Ringo stood; staring at Paul. Unsure of how to get his attention without scaring the life out of him.

He gently placed the cup in front of Paul and in a low voice called out to him. Much to Ringo’s relief: he wasn’t startled and slowly looked up at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked… groggy. And that he definitely needed some sleep as it was getting late at night.

“For you,” he said and pointed to the steaming cup. And then proceeded to sit down on the other side of the table in front of Paul, who nodded and slowly picked up the cup to blow the steam back as he to a sip of the warm coffee. Ringo had decided to wait for a little while before doing the same as he weren’t much into the heat of it.

“How’re you,” he asked as he looked over the papers strewn all over the table. It was hard to read what it said as it laid upside down but much looked familiar like the names of people and places.

“… I,” he sighed, ”I’m… fine.” He didn’t sound sure as he only glanced briefly up at Ringo before looking back down at the papers. His eyes stayed still and Ringo assumed it was because he wasn’t reading and was just staring at the lines of the document placed in front of him.

“Just tired, y’know,” he said as he looked back up at Ringo with drooping, tired, eyes. Ringo nodded, despite not fully believing that was the only reason for his sad state. Paul slightly frowned and, as if he had read his thoughts said, “you don’t believe me, do you?”

Ringo breathed out a short laugh, “no,” and shook his head slightly as his long hair flowed along with the slight movement. “D’you need to talk about it?” He asked and rested his forearms on the table as he leaned in over the table to look at Paul.

“I… I don’t know.” He glanced away as he sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. The sleeves of his shirt were pulled back to the elbows; showing off the dark hairs on his arm. It was overall a pretty masculine look he had going on. With all the hair. Much different from the appearance of the band when they first started out almost a decade ago.

They said in silence for minutes, staring into empty air while slowly sipping at their coffees. It was only when Paul sighed that the silence was broken; “I miss Brian,” he muttered while staring at a painting on the wall this his left. Ringo looked at it as well. It was an old one, origin or artist unknown to Ringo. Surely British as it depicted something that reminded of him of the streets of London during rainy autumn nights.

Ringo knew not what to do and just nodded in silence as both men looked at the painting. Ringo wondered at how it got there. Who bought it and hung it up. Where it was originally from. Who painted it. What Paul thought of it as he seemed to be lost in thought staring at it. Maybe it wasn’t the painting that had his mind wandered. It was clear he was overwrought over something and Ringo felt he knew why.

It was a shitty situation they were in. Constant fights and bitter comments and insults were thrown around. Members leaving early, causing delays on projects or causing someone having to take over. George had temporary left the band at some point and, well, so had Ringo. It was all crumbling together, and fast. It was all affecting them in different ways. But it wasn’t until this point, when he was silently looking at Paul, that he really saw how it was affecting the other man.

“Paul… I’m sorry,” he said in a voice that failed in hiding the pain it caused him to see his friend so distraught and vulnerable.

“Don’t,” he sighed and a hand went over his eyes as he glanced away from the painting and back down onto the papers. “Don’t be,” he whispered. “It’s all… too late… We’re… over.”

He gently went about collecting the papers and stood up; looking away from Ringo back at the painting. It’s meaning was unclear to Ringo, but in this moment and atmosphere, it seemed bleak. Paul looked back down at the still sitting Ringo with tearing eyes, “see you tomorrow.” It felt like a question and Ringo was unable to say anything back before Paul left with papers loose in his hand.

He sighed and rested his head in his arms on the table. He had to get home to his wife. He had to leave this place. This lonely place that was once filled with hope and excitement for the future. Now only left with sorrows and the ultimate resting place of the band.


End file.
